The real me

I don’t know the real me.

How could you know the real me?

I’m not sure where I’m going.

How could you know?

Do I identity with my protiens?

My feelings?

My thoughts?

Is there really more than that?

Hidden and unfound.

Laying in dormant waiting.

Floating in suspention.

Breathing. I think.

Wrestling with existance.

Nothing is real.

Hurt or harm.

Life or death.

The flame dwendles as the night reaches on.

Morning never comes.

Feeling is futile.

Knowing is fraud.

Understanding requires being under something. Squished. Suppressed.